Storms and spirit

Why is it that the end of a storm most often shows, or brings, us things. Yesterdays' Nor'easter showed me that yes, you have foundations cracks in your house that caused the ceiling and the fireplace to leak. And I got buckets and towels, and I listened to the frustrating leak while preparing my poetry for tonight's reading (which was cancelled as Norfolk, VA is underwater). Yet while the storm is still feeling her way through Hampton Roads, or any storm feeling out our hollow parts, the cracks in our walls and doors, she is cleaning us, like spirit, making us stop in the middle of the street, in the middle of ourselves. She soaks our basements and rugs, but she makes us stop and listen; she makes us swim when we thought we'd forgotten how. If our loved ones are unscathed and safe, storms clear us of the debris that clotted up in ourselves, from work, or school, or life, our country's wars, the news, and let's us begin again. Change is sometimes good.